Isn’t that quote brilliant? I saw it printed on a canvas this summer and had to buy it. It succinctly sums up what I’ve learned over the last five years or so: You don’t grow until you step outside of your comfort zone. That’s when life, with all of its thrilling ups and downs, begins.

Last week, getting ready for Philomath Open Studios, I discovered myself outside of my comfort zone. It snuck up on me. I wasn’t sleeping well, my mind was racing through this and that, I was on edge. I was as prepared as I could be for the event so it didn’t make any sense, until I realized — oh yeah, this is something new.

This is not just sharing my art with the public. I’m used to that. This is sharing my private space of studio and home with the public. This is the space I dream and create in. The space I live in. There is something a little more personal, a little uncomfortable with that. It’s one more layer removed between me and you. It’s one layer closer to the heart.

It’s one more step into life. One more step beyond that comfort zone. It’s funny, sometimes I can’t tell where the line of comfort is, until I move past it. Then I can only tell by my reactions, like last week’s sleep issues. Other times, I’m pushing so far beyond the edge, it’s obvious by the voice of fear in my head. It’s important to know the signals you personally get. Once I realized the reason for my discomfort, I could deal with it. At least journal about it, talk about it, stare it in the face and understand it.

It’s strange to think that just three short years ago — three years to the month, in November — I participated in my first exhibition, ever. My first two photographs hung on display. And here I am now, inviting people into my studio, calling myself an artist. How did I get here? It was one little step at a time. Each one taking me beyond the edge of the comfort zone, dragging that edge along behind me.

Don’t ever think this kind of growth is easy. It’s not. Each step brings up fear and doubt. Each step brings new challenges and frustrations, along with the triumphs.

Each step brings life. It’s worth really living, don’t you think?

There is one more weekend in the Philomath Open Studios tour! You can visit my studio in Corvallis, Oregon on November 1 & 2 from Noon to 5pm.

She would not turn back in fear, not desperately shape herself to fit into old, tightly wedged spaces. She never thought of herself as someone who would do anything other than what was expected of her, yet there was never really an arrival at any fixed point. All that wishing for certainty, all that belief in the clear path always visible up ahead. Here she was with life before her unknown, a reluctant yet inevitable traveler on the path still uncharted.
— Excerpt from Visible City by Tova Mirvis

There was a time in my life I longed for certainty. I made big choices, life choices, based on reducing fear of the unknown. If I could only follow a charted path, get further down the road of expectations, things would be certain. Then I could relax. My younger self was sure of it.

I started my career in a time of uncertainty. In college, my family lost the business that had supported us through most of my childhood. I watched my father cast adrift, trying to figure out what he was going to do with himself without his business to run. I graduated in 1992, the middle of an economic downturn, where jobs were scarce. I was one of the lucky ones with an offer from a good company, a large corporation with a track record for stability.

Things were certain now, right?

Three months after I started there were layoffs. I wasn’t one of the ones who lost their jobs, although I was in fear of it for weeks, until one of the managers told me I was safe. “It would be cruel and unusual punishment,” he said of hiring then firing me in so short a time. Whew, I could breathe again.

Things were certain now, right?

This first job had an interesting demographic. I was the only woman in an engineering department of about 30 engineers. The closest in age to me was 10 years older, the average age was closer to 20-25 years older than me. In my quest for certainty, I looked at those older engineers with envy. They had it all figured out. Good jobs, families grown or nearly so, retirement on the horizon… To my mind, they had it all laid out. I wanted to fast forward to that point.

Things would be certain then, right?

Oh, my poor little younger self, in her quest for certainty. Now that I’m at that point I so longed to be, middle age, I understand just how uncertain life is. There is no path, no course where if you do everything right you will get the prize of absolute stability.

Life happens, life changes. Jobs go away, illnesses happen, loved ones leave us. All of the coworkers who I thought had life figured out had lots more life to live, lots more uncertainty to face, just as I did.

Looking back, I can see how naive I was to want to skip ahead. Life isn’t a destination or a goal that you can shortcut to, it is something to be lived. Something to be experienced, in all of its ranges of emotions and options. It’s the choices we make in the face of uncertainty, in the face of fear, and the lessons we learn from them, that make us whole people. It’s our struggles that make us human.

Fundamentally, uncertainty is what makes life interesting. It’s how we get to shape a life, and a self, that is wholly our own.

Like the character in the Mirvis novel, my younger self faced “life before her unknown, a reluctant yet inevitable traveler on the path still uncharted.” That young, reluctant traveler has, with time and experience, turned into a willing participant in the journey through uncharted territory. She has learned to face her fears and move ahead out of the “old, tightly wedged spaces.”

I have learned there is no certainty in life. That’s what makes it worth living.

Some old friends visited me recently. These are mutual friends you and I have, I’m guessing. You probably know them too: Doubt and Fear. Do they ever visit you? I would bet they do.

For me, they show up anytime I’m doing something new. No matter how much I’ve already accomplished or become comfortable doing, they like to come and whisper in my ear, “What do you think you are doing? Who do you think you are?”

There is a difference in my response these days, though. Instead of stopping me in my tracks, or paralyzingly me in place, I wearily say, “Hello, guys. I should have known you’d be along anytime now. Why don’t you sit over there, in the corner? You can watch me work. I’m busy here and don’t have time for you.” I know I can’t get rid of them, at least until this new project is over. But I can acknowledge them, then ignore them and move ahead. There is no use paying attention to them. They sing the same tired song every time.

This part of growth is inevitable for me. The Doubt-and-Fear part. Just like spring comes around every year, doubt and fear will come along every time I stretch myself into something new.

There is that one big difference though… Now that I’ve been doing my art for a while, since I’ve stretched myself over and over by doing lots of uncomfortable, new things over the last few years, their impact is not as great. They don’t hold the power over me that they used to.

Inevitable, yes. Powerful, no.

That’s the amazing thing about growth. When the cycle comes around again, you aren’t in the same place. You can look back at where you’ve been, where you were the last time you heard those voices and say, “Huh, guess you weren’t so right after all. Why should I listen to you this time?” Your response and your capacity to manage the doubt and fear grows too.

Take a moment today and think about where you are now. Is there a direction you are going that is bringing up the doubts and the fears? Then look back a year, two years, five years. Look at how you’ve changed. The things you’ve done. How you’ve grown. So when our mutual friends of Doubt and Fear show up at your door, you can banish them into the corner too. Because you know you don’t have to allow them power over you.

You’ve done it before, you can do it again. With less doubt and fear, this time.

Do you ever feel self-conscious taking a photo? Most of us do, when we start out in photography. Maybe for a long, long time. That little voice in our says things like…You probably shouldn’t be photographing here.
What will people think?
They are looking at me!
If we listen to it, that little voice can prevent us from taking photos in many situations. It can prevent us from following our heart, prevent us from capturing the image we were called to take.

Today’s market/wheels photo is no exception. It was taken just off Piazza del Duomo in Florence. This little snack cart also had bicycles for rental. As we walked around the duomo, I spotted it and spent a few minutes studying it with my camera, while the vendor of the stand looked critically on. Did it make me uncomfortable to have him there? Heck yeah. But I had a mission, to get a good market/wheels photo. I was struggling with this scene, but I knew I had a unique image here to capture. So I too a deep breath, ignored him, and moved around for a while, eventually finding this composition that worked. I love the depth of the image, looking down the street past the cart to the chair and the second bicycle.

I must be honest, if I had stopped, it would not have been the first time my resolve had withered under the gaze of a watcher. There have been countless times that I have noticed people watching me photograph, and stopped what I was doing. Why? Was I doing anything wrong? Being on the street, in a public area, absolutely not. There are no people, so neither was I violating anyone’s privacy by taking their photo when they didn’t want me to. And who knows what the vendor was really thinking. Probably, “Yes, a tourist! How much money can I get her to pay for an apple?” (I’ve never felt like I was a walking dollar sign anywhere in Italy more than I did in Florence. That town is tuned to squeeze every dollar it can out of tourists.)

So, how do you get over the gazes? The seemingly critical eye of people around you?

First, you have to want the shot. Want it more than you care about anything else. If you’re worried about how you look more than how the photograph looks, you will not overcome your discomfort.

Second, you have to be willing to look a little weird to the average person. Non-photographers will not understand what you are doing when you get down on the dirty ground to get that awesome angle. You will get looks. Accept that as a fact.

Know your rights, but also be respectful of others wishes. Are you on private property? Is there a sign that says “no photography?” Are you in a store and the owner asks you to stop photographing? On private property, the property owner sets the rules. Respect them. In public places, a little respect also goes a long way, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t photograph.

It happens rarely, but if someone asks you to stop photographing, politely apologize and move on. A little humility also goes a long way.

Realize that the quizzical looks you get are really just passing glances. People aren’t paying much attention to you. They are off in their own world. If they stop and watch you for a while, you can acknowledge them with a smile and a shrug of your shoulders, and get back to capturing your images.

I could have let the looks of the vendor scare me off here, but I’ve grown a thicker skin. The image I’m working toward is worth more than avoiding the looks I might get. If you get tripped up by this common feeling of worry about what other people are thinking as you take a photo, I encourage you to take a deep breath and continue. Do it once or twice, to push past the discomfort, and see how it goes. What’s the worst that can happen? You apologize and offer to delete the photo if someone asks you to stop. The best that can happen? You get an awesome image, and you have a little more confidence the next time you are photographing out and about.

Don’t miss the giveaway I have going on right now for some Evidence of Love! Visit here to see the details and enter. Today is the last day for entry – I’ll draw tomorrow morning!

This quote is from the bridge in my favorite song off Matt Nathanson’s new album, Modern Love. These words have just stuck with me… “Afraid… we fade.”

So true, isn’t it? When we are afraid of something, we shrink back. Hide. We stick to the tried and true, which over time becomes the boring and predictable. And we slowly, bit by bit, disappear.

As I’ve worked through some of my feelings around moving back to Oregon, photography, creative inspiration and blogging, I’ve realized I’ve been afraid. Afraid I wouldn’t find photographic inspiration. Afraid I would lose my stream of creative ideas. Afraid I wouldn’t have anything interesting to write or show. Afraid I would lose my blog readers.

So today as I debated on whether or not to post another crab pot photo, as I heard in my head, “Who would want to see another photo of crab pots,” this song reminded me to just get over my silly fears and get on with it. Do what I love, write and share what interests me, as I always have. When did I get so careful? Why is this so hard? I seem to have to re-learn this concept over and over again.

Yesterday’s conversation on fear was fantastic. If you are thinking you are the only one who feels fear, go and take a look at the comments. You and I are definitely not alone.

This topic was on my mind through the whole day. Funnily enough, a message with the title “Your Fears are Lies” appeared in my inbox later in the day. I’m on a list for fear.less magazine, which periodically sends out notes about overcoming fear, in addition to the free online magazine they publish “to show people they’re not alone in their fear.” The message was a perfect continuation of what I started writing about yesterday, highlighting some of the same points and adding others. If you want ongoing encouragement to overcome your fear, you can subscribe to the fear.less free online magazine and the emails here.

Later in the day, I also had a conversation with my husband about how we “pre-reject” ourselves. Here’s the scenario:1. We see something we want to do or have an idea and want to propose it somewhere.2. We think about asking or proposing and the little voice in our head starts talking. It says, “They will just say no.”3. We are so afraid of rejection, we don’t want to hear a “no,” so we don’t ask.Guess what! No one else had to reject us in this scenario. We did it for them!

Have you ever done this? I have. So, so many times. I’m starting to realize that I should let someone else say yes or no, not decide for them. Some of the time, when you put a question or proposal out there, the answer is no. Sometimes the answer is a big, blank void. That’s almost worse, to my mind. But sometimes, the answer is yes.

The only way you can get an answer of “yes” is to actually ask the question, send the proposal, submit your work. You open yourself up for rejection, but you also open yourself up for success. No one is going to come knocking at your door or in your email inbox asking for this wonderful idea, because they don’t even know it exists until you put it out there.

Think on this. Look for times when you don’t even give others the chance to reject you, because you are rejecting yourself. When that happens, take a deep breath, put yourself out there and let them make the decision. Who knows, the answer might just be “yes.”